Myriden hit!
Myriden grazed!
Myriden went into a flurry of activity, smacking everything this way and that, trying to find the offending person who’d touched him. While the kraken flailed near the fallen sailor, Ethan worried Myriden still wouldn’t find him. So he threw the next two things he had: his pistol and then his sword.
The pistol missed Myriden by a foot or two and ended up flying overboard, much to Ethan’s dismay. The cutlass, however, not only hit Myriden, but it did so right next to the mercenary.
Myriden hit!
Myriden grazed!
Again, the baby kraken went into a frenzy, but this time, he found the unconscious sailor. Like a hungry python enjoying a fresh meal, Myriden struck the mercenary with lightning speed, wrapped him up, and yanked him overboard. Narrator narrated accordingly, all the while, Ethan relishing his words for the first time since he’d arrived in this world.
Mercenary hit!
Mercenary grabbed!
Mercenary is killed!
The rest of Myriden’s appendages lazily withdrew, and the ship righted itself. After a few tense seconds of neither Ethan nor Zoey daring to move, Narrator tacked on one last tidbit of info.
Myriden is satiated!
“Dare I ask if we’re clear now?” Ethan said after exhaling a tense breath he’d been holding for a while.
“Yeah,” Zoey said, blowing out a puff of air as well. “We’re good. Now let’s get that leg of yours looked at before you catch an infection, and we have to amputate.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Stitches
The mystery of Maii’s absence during Myriden’s attack was solved in a matter of minutes once Zoey engaged the autopilot—a rope tying the ship’s wheel in place.
They found the jackal inside the captain’s cabin, rolled on his back, snoring loudly. His belly, swollen, gently rose and fell with his breathing, and his tongue hung lazily out the side of his mouth. The fur on his face was stained in hues of reds and browns, and the only signs that Jacob had ever existed were some tattered clothes and some boots—one of which had a bone sticking out of it.
“I didn’t need to see that boot,” Ethan said, turning away.
Zoey took a completely different approach to her reaction. Her eyes were wide, and she looked at the jackal, thoroughly impressed. “Damn,” she said after a long, slow whistle. “He’s one hell of an eater.”
“Tell me about it,” Ethan said. “Can we fix my leg now?”
“I mean, like, really, he’s one hell of an eater,” she said. “I bet he’d put a school of piranhas to shame.”
“Mm-hm. Now, come on, let’s go,” Ethan said, tugging her arm.
Zoey shrugged him off. “Does he look bigger to you?”
“His belly does.”
“I’m serious,” she said. “I think he’s bigger.”
Ethan looked at Maii. He did seem as if he’d gained weight, and not just because of his bloated stomach. The jackal looked broader in the chest and might have even gained a few inches in height at the shoulder. But no, that couldn’t be right. Nothing grew that fast, did it? Certainly not a jackal. “Probably a trick of the lights,” Ethan said, liking that explanation.
Zoey twisted her mouth and grumbled to herself for a few seconds, which did a fantastic job of making Ethan feel uneasy.
“What?” he asked.
“I don’t think he’s a just a jackal.”
“Yeah, I figured that part out already,” Ethan replied. “He talks, and he can cast illusions, remember?”
“Correction, then: I don’t think he’s just a talking, spell-casting jackal.”
“What is he, then?”
Zoey exhaled sharply, and then her lips went tight into a thin line before replying. “I don’t know, but someone went to a lot of trouble making a ring that controls him.”
“Which is a good thing for us, right?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Fire is good if you can control it,” Zoey said. “If you can’t…”
Ethan grimaced. “Right. Any idea on how to discover what our little friend is, then?”
Zoey shrugged. “No, but I suggest finding out sooner rather than later.”
Ethan agreed, and the two left Maii to his full belly and dreams of, well, whatever it was magical-creatures-who-were-pretending-to-be-jackals dreamed of. They soon procured some bandages from the ship’s stores, as well as needle, thread, and a dark bottle of rum. Ethan was keen on using the last of those three, but given the size of the first, and the coarseness of the second, he was leaning toward a thorough scrubbing with saltwater and a nice wrap as opposed to Zoey playing trauma surgeon, even if they had the rum, which he’d no doubt be drinking all of.
“Hold still,” she said, once she had him sitting on the stairs with his leg extended.
“Easy for you to say,” he said. “You’re not the one about to be jabbed with that thing.”
“Hush,” she said, kneeling down and leaning in for a better view. “I’ll get you plowed before I stick you. Don’t worry.”
“I’d worry less if we had some healing potions. Don’t suppose you still have any?”
“Yes, but they’re back at the inn, along with everything else I had,” she replied. “You wouldn’t want to waste one now anyway.”
“I think I very much would.”
“It’s going to take a couple of days to sail to the fortress,” she said. “You’ll have regained your strength by then.”
Ethan snatched up the bottle and took two swigs as big as he could muster. To his surprise, though strong, it had a fantastic taste of roasted sugar, and within seconds he could feel the alcohol beginning to warm his belly. “Alright,” he said. “Give me a few more minutes and a few more drinks, and I’ll be ready.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said. “In the meantime, let me see what I’m working with.”
Her hands gingerly peeled back the split fabric to his breeches. She was about to prod the wound with her forefinger, when she stopped an inch away. Her head dropped unexpectedly, and her shoulders slumped.
“I haven’t said it yet, but I need to,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. “Thanks for saving me back there.”
“You’re welcome,” Ethan said with a coldness that surprised even him. Now that things had calmed and they were no longer fighting for their lives, thoughts of what she’d done and what she had been planning on doing resurfaced, and with them, came renewed feelings of resentment. “I’m still mad at you, FYI.”
“You sure you want to say that to a girl who has a needle in hand?” she asked, obviously trying to keep things light.
“I’m serious.”
Zoey grew quiet, and her half smile faded as her head dipped. “I know,” she finally said. “And as I said before, I understand if you never forgive me. If I were in your shoes, I probably wouldn’t.”
“I don’t know about forever,” Ethan said. “But at least for the next few minutes. Or hour. I haven’t decided yet.”
Zoey stood and placed a shaky hand on his shoulder before using her thumb to massage it gently. She focused on the act, which seemed to be more an outlet for nervous energy and lingering fear than anything. After a few moments, her hand snaked up his neck to the back of his head where her fingers began to play with his hair.
“I could make it up to you,” she said hesitantly.
Ethan’s lips curled upward, but he ended up shaking his head with a long sigh. “No,” he said. “I don’t want you to have sex with me out of feelings of guilt. I don’t think you want to do that either.”
“No, but I know how guys are,” she softly said. “Both here and back home.”
“I am still bleeding,” he said. “Kind of a mood killer.”
“Maybe for you,” she said, flashing her fangs in a moment of levity.
“Yeah, well, I don’t have those,” he said.
“I could give them to you, if you like,” she off
ered. “I don’t like turning people. It’s a big deal—life-changing, literally. But for you, if you wanted, I would. You’d heal overnight if you did. Even faster if we had someone you could dine on. But even without a midnight snack, you could avoid the needle and thread.”
Ethan drew back and made a face as if he’d just walked into a morgue that had lost its AC for a week. “Eh, no, thanks,” he said. “I’ll take the stitches.”
Zoey furrowed her brow. “Really? Why? Most people jump at the chance. It’s not like being turned into a zombie.”
“I know, but did you ever see that movie From Dusk till Dawn, or was that after you got here?”
“No, I saw it. Why?”
“Remember the part when that guy makes the speech about how if there are vampires, then they have had to come from hell, and if there’s a hell, there has to be a heaven?”
“No, but let’s pretend I do.”
Ethan snorted and threw up his hands. “How can you not remember that? That was, like, one of the best parts.”
“I don’t know. I just don’t.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Ethan said. “Point being, if there are unholy monsters, there have to be holy kickass clerics, priests, paladins, and whatever else who love launching crusades against the undead. And I’d rather not be blasted by any of them the moment I cross their path. And that doesn’t even count all the vampire hunters I’m sure are running around here, too.”
“Oh, you mean like Blade?”
“Exactly.”
Zoey cracked a grin and nodded. “They’re annoying. I’ll grant you that.”
“Just annoying?”
“Deadly if they realize who you are,” she said. “But I’ve got rules I follow that I could teach you. Stick to them, and you’ll stay alive. The same goes for steering clear of the clergy.”
“I’ll still pass. Besides, I don’t like the idea of having to suck the blood out of others on a regular basis.”
“Okay, I understand,” she said. “But if you change your mind, let me know.”
She returned to dealing with Ethan’s leg. With one hand, she kept the fabric peeled back, and with the other, she started cleaning with one of the bandages. At first, she dabbed at it, but when that wasn’t going as well as she would’ve liked, she pulled back and straightened.
“I’m going to get some freshwater,” she said. “Lose the pants in the meantime.”
“Say again?”
“Lose the pants,” she said. When Ethan balked, she tacked on. “I’m a nurse. There’s no reason to be bashful. I promise you’ve got nothing down there I haven’t seen before. Now strip.”
Ethan stood, unbuckled his breeches, and let them fall before sitting back down. “Fine. Happy?”
“Quite,” she replied. “Be right back.”
Zoey left and returned in a couple of moments with a small bucket of water. Using said water, she cleaned the wound with every bit of skill and care he would’ve expected from a nurse working the ICU. At least, right up until the moment that she squeezed his leg and fresh blood oozed out, coating her finger, which she promptly stuck in her mouth.
Her lips pursed as she closed her eyes and sucked. Her cheeks blushed, and the redness in them quickly spread to her neck and the top of her chest. For a few seconds, she seemed lost in a world that Ethan had only had a glimpse of the night before, but then her eyes popped open, and she quickly popped her finger out of her mouth.
“Sorry,” she said with a nervous chuckle. “I’m a little hungry.”
“I figured.”
Zoey cleared her throat and went back to work. It wasn’t long before she’d tended to the wound to her satisfaction. While she had made Ethan wince a couple of times while prodding, not to mention scream bloody murder when she disinfected the wound with the rum, he’d also managed to down about a third of the bottle by the time she was finished. As such, when she held up the threaded needle and asked if he was ready, he managed a drunken smile.
“Do your worst,” he said, words starting to slur. “Actually, check that. Do your best. And nothing but the best. And all that stuff.”
“I will,” she said. “But try not to move, okay? That’ll only make it hurt more.”
Ethan nodded and sucked in a breath, trying to prepare himself for what surely was going to hurt like hell. It didn’t. But only by a degree or two. A split second after Zoey pushed the needle through his skin, Ethan slammed his hand into the step next to him and let loose a string of curses that somehow ended with “horny-piss-ass-flying-crap monster.”
“That was one I hadn’t heard before,” Zoey said, grinning. “And I’ve heard a lot through the years.”
Ethan sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to relax. “Yeah, but how many of those people had a nurse use a worn-out needle the size of a battleship on them?”
“Uh, none,” she admitted. “But you did well on that. Honest. I’m really impressed you didn’t pull away.”
“Thanks.”
“Only fifteen more to go.”
“Damn it to hell,” Ethan muttered. He then held up a finger before she stuck him again and took the opportunity to help himself to more rum.
Another four stitches came and went, and the number of creative obscenities that flew from Ethan’s mouth would’ve made even the most hardened drill instructor take notes. Stitches six and seven felt as if someone was grabbing his wound with hot pliers and twisting, but after Zoey gave him a ten-minute break, at which point he drank even more, all the rum he’d imbibed since the start finally kicked in at full strength.
You’re drunk.
Narrator didn’t actually say that. Or at least, if he had, Ethan couldn’t remember. He’d made up that bit on his own as he felt as if it was something Narrator was dying to tell him. He was quite the guy, Ethan figured, that Narrator fellow. Always hanging around, making sure he didn’t miss something important. Too bad he never had him back in the real world. He could be handy from time to time, even if it was a little creepy that he followed him everywhere.
And how did that work, Ethan wondered.
Zoey stuck him again, interrupting his train of thought, which was just as well, because after the dull prick against his leg, Ethan couldn’t remember what he was thinking about. Probably something to do with the incredible angle he had when it came to admiring Zoey’s chest.
“See something you like?” Zoey said, catching his eye as she looked up.
“You…hic…you might…hic…say that.”
Zoey gently reached up and took the bottle. Ethan tried to protest, but when he nearly lost his balance, and the room went spinning, he decided it was probably for the best.
“I did say that,” she said, putting the bottle to the side. “The question is, would you say that?”
“Say what?”
Zoey laughed, hitting light, sweet notes that struck a chord in Ethan, ones that made him happy to be around her. “Never mind.”
Immediately, Ethan shook his head. That wasn’t right. He was mad at her about something. Or was she mad at him? He furrowed his brow, trying to figure it out, which served as the perfect distraction while Zoey said something or other and finished sewing him up.
“There you go. Good as new,” she said, tapping him on the knee. “Or will be in a few days. No heavy lifting, and absolutely no swimming until I say. Doctor’s orders.”
Zoey stood and turned to leave. In the half second before she left, Ethan grabbed her by the hand. “Wait.”
“What?”
Ethan rose, and feeling as if the moment had turned into a now-or-never sort of deal, he tried to kiss her.
Zoey, ten times nimbler than he was thanks to his inebriation, easily slipped from his grasp and hopped out of the way. “No.”
Ethan dropped his brow, confused, and still feeling like it was a good idea. After all, they’d almost hooked up, and not that long ago, if his blur of a memory proved to be correct.
“Why not? You…hic…were going
to…before…I think.”
“Not exactly,” she explained. “You’re really drunk. Like really, really drunk.”
“And?”
“And you turned me down sober.”
“I did? Why?” Ethan scratched his head, which ended up spinning the world. “Oh, that was a bad idea.”
“You did,” she said with a sigh. “And thank you for that.”
“I still think we—”
Zoey put a finger on his lips to quiet his protest. “Trust me,” she said as she backed a couple of paces. “You’ll thank me in the morning. I promise. Or maybe not, all things considered.”
Ethan stumbled to the side when the ship rocked unexpectantly, and he had to take a few seconds after catching himself on a post to make sure his footing was solid enough to keep him from kissing the floor anytime soon. Even after he’d done that, it was still iffy. Everything around him seemed fuzzy and moved far more than it should have. All of that was more than enough to overload his alcohol-saturated brain so that when he finally remembered Zoey was standing nearby, he hadn’t a clue what was going on. “Um, what were we talking about?”
“You climbing into one of the hammocks for the crew,” she said, gently pulling him forward by the wrist.
A couple of minutes later, she helped him into one of the hanging beds. Blissful, drunken sleep quickly followed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Land-Ho!
Ethan woke, groggy, sore, and thoroughly hungover. After he massaged his temples, he managed to roll out of the hammock without smashing into the floor, at which point he noticed a clear bottle filled with water nearby, which he promptly drank.
Still feeling like crap, Ethan flopped himself back in the hammock and passed out again. When he woke for the second time, aside from a dull ache in his left leg and head, he felt halfway decent. Except, he noted, he had to pee. Bad.
“Christ,” he said, rolling out of the bunk. He raced up the stairs and out on the main deck where a steady salty breeze greeted him. In a flash, he bolted over to the portside rail, and once he was done with his much-needed bio break, he buttoned up his pants and took a look around.
The Pirate (Captains & Cannons Book 1) Page 21